Assassin's Creed: Vive L'Empereur - English Version
by Rabenkopf
Summary: The last Grand Master of the Knights Templar is dead, but the ripples caused by the French Revolution haven't vanished yet. War rips the Old World apart, while an ambitious Corsican stretches his hands out for power. And in between the never-ending war between Assassins and Templars continues. Dive into the last years of the Revolution and see how history is written...
1. Prolog - Past

**Based on** Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed Series

1782, London

I can see nothing…I can't hear…and I feel nothing. Pure Darkness engulfs me.

German "World of Players"-Assassin's Creed-Forum **presents**

A whistling sound is the first thing I can sense again after a while. It hisses through my ears.

Burning wood and roasting flesh infuses my nostrils.

I sense wetness on my face.

 **A** Rabenkopf **Story**

Burning pain stabs through my body. It concentrates on the left half of my face, my left arm and in my chest…I believe few of my rips are broken.

The wetness on my face and in my hairs…is that rain?

I try to open my eyes, but the left one stays closed.

 **Starring (among others):**

Napoleon Bonaparte

I sense warmth in front of my feet. The whistling sound in my ears disappears slowly, while my blurred view becomes clearer.

Rain beats down on my face and I seem to lie in a puddle.

At the lower edge of my view I recognize the flaring of fire.

Arno Dorian

I try to sit up…no easy task with these wounds. The left half of my face…I don't know what is going on with it, but it burns like hell. But looking down at my left hand is enough to make a supposition: Ring and little finger are missing, as well like this part of my hand. They seem to have been…blown away…the returning pain is infernal.

Connor alias Ratonhnhaké:ton

A splinter of wood is pierced inside my left underarm, but I feel no pain from there. My Hidden Blade seems to have prevented that, but it doesn't work anymore apparently.

I get into a sitting position finally…only to spit blood one moment later.

I lift my glance away from my right hand, bathed in blood, and see the inferno: a burning house, once headquarters of the Brotherhood, is blazing fiercely despite the strong rain.

 **Assassin's Creed**

Vive L'Empereur!

The whole building is burning and when the rain has done its work, only a smoking ruin will remain. I look at the spectacle with horror, while tears wriggle down from my healthy eye.

I look around…is somebody still alive…somebody who wasn't inside, like me?

I see nobody around my position, but there for inside the building: one burning figure jumps through a window, screaming loudly with pain and landing only few meters away from me in another puddle.

The fire doesn't want to stop first, but that is meaningless anyway: the survivor struggles at the beginning, before stopping to move ultimately.

I stare at him bewildered. Was that Damian? Or Luke? Perhaps Jimmy…my eyes start looking at the burning house again. Each of them is…dead?

I close my healthy eye in pain, while I try to get on my feet. They don't seem to be affected by the explosion, which has ripped the house apart, but still it hurts to regain my feet – and still I am not able to get into a straight up posture.

My eyes look up again and other emotions join my grief: frustration, wrath and hatred.

Who did that?! The Templars, who else! But how did they do it?! From where they knew this hideout and how could they place a bomb inside…? Above all such a big one to cause all that!

…our black powder supplies…was the bomb there? But who and how was it placed there? Only our brothers had access…

"Cole!", I hear a familiar voice. I look around and realize not before now, that more and more bystanders gather around the burning house. I gnash my teeth, while my brother runs towards me: Alan Bridges, my biological, older brother. He looks almost as me…at least as I looked before the explosion…only older. He wears the blue-white uniform, which proves his affiliation to the British Navy, as well like its forward-poking bicorn.

He runs to me with a worried face and helps me up, so that I get into a straight posture. "What happened?!", he asks lightly in panic, looking from me to the house.

"Not here…where we are among us only…", I murmur as loud as I can. The pain in my face gets stronger thanks to this.

He looks around for a moment and then nods only. He carries me off from here, while more and more people, despite the rain, appear to watch. Even the first redcoats are seen already.

He leads me through the many alleys of the city, away from everyone's eyes. "What happened, Cole?", Alan asks me murmuring now as well.

"I don't know…", I answer, trying to ignore the pain in my face, "…something exploded inside this building in the moment I wanted to enter it…I was thrown away apparently…", I look up to him, "…how bad is it?"

He stops and examines me, apparently more properly this time. He tries to smile.

"Nothing what will not heal.", he answers finally, "I have seen worse at Chesapeake Bay and these people live till today."

"As cripples…", I reply only and Alan becomes silent first, while continuing to move.

"No, some…many of them serve again or have got it made in a different way for their lives…you will be your old self again, promise.", is his answer after this break, within we brought more meters between us and the burning house.

"I will never be my old self again…", I reply only, while the faces of everyone I lost cross my mind: Damian, Luke, Jimmy, Alex, Old Jack, Bloody Mary, Sarah, the Mentor…and so many more…

We turn around on a main street, close to the harbor. The sea of masts towers in front of me and I start to ask myself… "Where are we going?"

"To a friend.", Alan explains only, "He is a doctor…a really good doctor…he will get you healthy again…"

I say nothing to that. Instead my strength leaves me and I doze off…for how long, I don't know, but I wake up in a bed again.

The pain pierces through my face, hand and body, but it doesn't feel as bad as earlier. I notice an oil lantern to my left side, the only light in this swinging room…I seem be on a ship…

I lift my left arm, which seems to be heavier, and see that it was treated. Still blood is seen at few spots of the bandage.

My eyes, focused on my injured hand, notice one moment later that something is happening behind it. At the doorframe of the cabin two men, talking with each other, are seen. One of them is Alan, while I don't know the other: older, with half-bald head, whereby the grayish rest of his hairs is tied together to a ponytail. He wears glasses as well like a yellow-green jacket and his face – at least his profile – is full with wrinkles.

They talk too quietly, as if I could hear them…above all they are turned to my left side and I bet my left ear isn't a much better condition than the rest of this side.

They stop talking and the older man leaves us, while Alan comes to me with a serious mien. He tries to smile now, but he never was a good actor. He sits down on my bed and before he can say only one syllable, he sighs.

"Good news?", I ask and need to realize how hoarse my voice sounds – there for it doesn't hurt to speak anymore.

He looks at me with a crestfallen mien. And then the smile comes back, before he answers: "Partially good. The major parts of your wounds will heal, with time, but hand and face…"

"…will stay ugly forever probably.", I finish the sentence and try to smile now as well…that hurts much more than speaking, which is why I stop it instantly.

He smirks and looks straight forward again…he stays this way for a while, till he turns back to me with a serious mien. "What has happened there, Cole?", he asks and sounds as worried as curious, "What was that place?"

I look down and think. How much should I tell him? "It was a place where I met my other…brothers."

His eyes become strict. "These people…you never told me, what kind of a bunch they were…"

"They were good people, Alan.", I answer, "People, who had only good deeds in mind."

"I doubt that…", he explains and stands up, only to go back and forth in the room.

"What you mean?", I press.

He stops and looks at me with anger on the face. "The fire was yesterday, Cole. You slept over a day."

What?!

"The redcoats have inspected the building in the meantime…the remains of it, at least. Beside a bunch of corpses, they found a bunch of weapons…very many weapons, from bayonet to cannons."

I look at Alan with a serious face. "What are their assumptions who the corpses were?"

Alan snorts. "Terrorists. Putschists. Rioters…take one. And many people have seen us at site."

My eyes narrow. "We were nothing of all that…we wanted liberty for the people…"

"And you don't think that that's the same?", Alan asks angrily and goes back and forth again, "Jesus, Cole! Chesapeake Bay is not even a year ago. The mood in the government is on the edge in the extreme, because we lost a war against people, who demanded the same! Believe me, when the government hears about who you were, their opinion will not change even one bit."

"What does that mean anyway?", I respond only and feel the grief rising again, "They are all dead."

Alan stops and looks on my face. "But not you.", are his sad words, "And they are looking for you."

I breathe in sharply. "What will happen now?"

"You disappear.", Alan answers, "I have arranged everything already. Called in some favors and bribed the rest. You are leaving London, tonight."

No…I try to sit up, but Alan presses me down with soft force. "Don't sit up, Cole.", he orders almost.

"I can't go.", I explain him, "The guys, who did that…they are still running free…I need to get them…at all costs."

I don't know if my words did that or my eyes, but Alan's eyes become sad now.

"Right now you couldn't harm even a fly.", he replies simply, "And believe me that your healing will not be over so quickly. You need to recover first.", he smiles, "And when this day has come, I will help you…but till then, rest."

I don't know what to say. In the end I nod only and allow myself to fall in the bed again.

Alan nods back. He turns around and goes to the exit of the cabin. There he stops once again and turns around partially. He smiles again. Then he disappears in the corridor.

And that was the last time, I've seen my brother.

* * *

And here comes a new story of mine ^^

Few words: I always thought that Assassin's Creed Unity has wasted much opportunity with the French Revolution and these times in total actually :-) So I decided to write a Fanfiction about it - see the story as sequel to Assassin's Creed Unity and its DLC Dead Kings ^^

This here is the English Version, but I want to upload a German as well, so here for German Readers:

Die Deutsche Version wird morgen Abend hochgeladen, da ich keine Vermischung der beiden Versionen möchte :-) Alternativ, wer möchte kann die Geschichte auch im World of Players Forum von Assassin's Creed nachlesen - dort ist auch schon mehr hochgeladen ^^


	2. Prolog - Present

Based on Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed Series

The glass is shoved left. The light of the table lamp in front of him becomes stronger.

He shoves his left hand in front of the face. "Damn is that bright." he moans loudly.

 **Assassin's Creed**

Vive L'Empereur!

"Adam, everything alright?" a female voice in the background asks.

"I am fine, Amelia." Adam answers, while the light becomes normal again, "The reality looks only much more weird after this trip."

He turns his head lightly to the left – his eyes wander across the blue curved seat, he is sitting in, in these moments, to a red-haired woman, who is found behind monitors.

"That was expected." she explains, while sitting down again slowly, which is why she disappears almost completely behind the monitors, "The real Animus isn't a Cloud only after all."

"Could cause less headache anyway." the blond man answers with a grin, while he massages his temples.

"Don't act like a baby, Adaś." the young woman replies, although a smile appears on her face, "So…how was it?"

The young man leans back. He looks for words apparently, before he says only one actually: "Real…"

"What you mean?" Amelia asks confused.

"Well what can I mean?", Adam replies without turning around, "As if everything was real…as if you were there actually…differently from these Interactive Propaganda-Games from Abstergo Entertainment on Helix, where you see after only one glance at the algorithm that somebody meddled with it.", he spits mentally, "That here…is real…was real…1782 at least."

Amelia stays silent first. One can hear the typing on a keyboard, before she presses: "And…have you found out, why Abstergo didn't want to publish it?"

"Already now?" Adam responds shocked, "I was in not for longer than few hours!"

"One hour…" Amelia corrects him, "You were in one hour."

"Really?" Adam asks and the disbelief is written all around his face, "I could swear it was longer."

"That's the Animus." Amelia explains, "You can spend years there, although only seconds pass for real.", she stops talking for a moment, seems to examine something on the monitors, "The window is open still for more than one hour. Apparently their security measures are indeed better, than I expected." she stands up partially again, so that her face is seen, "So what have you seen?"

Adam thinks about it for a moment, before replying: "Not now. First we should check out the other guy…how was his name again?"

"Davide."

"David?"

"Davide.", Amelia repeats, "Speak it like a French Guy."

"Davide.", Adam repeats, whereby his French accent sounds obviously exaggerated.

"Better.", Amelia responds only, suppressing a sigh, "What I should use for the start?"

"Like with our friend Cole." Adam explains, "The oldest data, which we stole from Abstergo Industries."

"Alright…" Amelia replies and more typing is heard, "That would be 1799, Paris."

"Quite late compared to Cole." Adam comments, "Let's see if it is as interesting."

"Yeah, yeah…" Amelia replies only and the typing stops slowly, "But don't dare to tell me nothing afterwards. I am as curious as you." it becomes silent completely, "Ready?"

"As ready as always." Adam explains, leaning back already. The glass in front of his eyes is already in place again.

"Then let's go." Amelia explains pressing another button.

And suddenly everything becomes bright for Adam again.


	3. A Man needs fun!

Based on Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed Series

 **Assassin's Creed**

Vive L'Empereur!

 **This chapter is rated M!**

A Man needs fun!

 _16\. Vendémiarie VIII, Paris (8. October 1799)_

 _(Look for music on youtube, with "Assassin's Creed Unity - Traditional French Songs" – that's the background music for this chapter ;-) )_

"These damn assholes!", I scream, when I throw the jug against the wall. The sheet bounces off the wall and hits one of the other guest's back.

The giant, whose hairs are as long as his beard, stands up immediately with an angry looking face, yelling: "You damn drunkard, don't you have eyes in your face?!"

I need such a guy now.

"When I wouldn't have, I would have missed you.", I provoke him and stand up myself now.

The giant thrusts past his companions and stops directly in front of my nose. He is at least one head taller than me…maybe two, can't tell properly in my current state. His colleagues stare at me equally angry and two stood up as well even – in total there are four, not counting the giant here…or 8, but then they would be spread on two tables as well and the giant would have an ugly twin…when it is possible to be even uglier.

I stop directly in front of the giant, arms bended towards my body. I expose my yellow teeth, which is why the giant flinches, grabbing his nose. "You damn skunk!", he yells disgusted.

I raise my right arm and sniff at it. "Is only the smell of the sewer, you femmelette.", I reply and remember my adventure to find this bar in a drunken state.

That disgusts him even more apparently, but this time he doesn't flinch. "When you insult me once again, you'll regret it.", he threatens me and lifts his forefinger in my direction.

Idiot.

Quickly I have grabbed the finger and twisted it around – along with arm – so that the giant starts screaming in pain, kneeling down lightly – Hey, now I can look into the eyes of this douchebag!

"Ach, will I, shitface?", I explain grinning, while his comrades have stood up completely now.

Finally…

The first is charging towards me, while I break the finger with a further twist completely now. The first one is always the unhappiest, like I know…I can barely suppress my laughter.

Quickly his arms are up and I block a dashing fist from the right with my right arm. I have stepped closer to my second victim, fast, and hit his head, hard. He moans in pain and grabs his broken nose, while I grab his arm and throw him at victim number 3.

Both crash into the table, which is why it falls apart – this bar has bad quality.

Victim number 1 is still busy with his broken finger, while victim number 4 runs at me – he from left and victim number 5 from the right. With few steps I have reached 4, who takes a big swing with a surprised face. A quick punch against the chin destroys these plans. Quickly I turn around to 5, whose fist flies already at my face.

In the right moment I turn my head in the direction of the punch, which is why it looks indeed as if he had hit me, but in reality he has brushed me at best. I turn my head back rapidly and kick his privates with full force.

Turning left to 4 follows, who attacks again already, but I dive under his fist and grab his arm. I turn around quickly and throw 4 above my shoulder against the next wooden pillar, which should keep this place up – it withstands it, my respect.

My head turns around to 1, who attacks me with his non-injured hand…come on, are you serious?!

I use his open position rapidly and hit him several times in the chest, upper arm and injured hand – you are not allowed to forget above all the last thing, when you beat up a shitface, you children at home: always aim for the weakpoints – an uppercut at his chin finishes him off.

Arms engulf my body and I realize that 2 and 3 have stood up again, perhaps 5 as well – damn it, that I haven't seen that coming! I haven't drunk enough obviously! Number 2…or 3 or 5, they all look the same…charges me again, while his colleague behind me keeps my arms at bay. I swing my head forward in the moment, where the fist should have smashed my beautiful face – which is why it hits the guy behind me, who let's me go.

Quickly I hit the chin of the guy in the front with my head, grab his vest and spin him around, which is why he hits the guy behind me perfectly. But instead of letting him go, I start to improve his face now – two till four punches are enough often, so that your opponent doesn't forget you so quickly, lovely children.

Then the guy behind me gets up again and wants to punch, but I use the victim in my hands as shield – for what are they good anyway? He moans and my boot hits his stomach, which is why he throws his former backer along with himself – this time the two stop moving on the ground.

I twirl around, ready to finish off the next opponent – but there is none. Number 1 is still lying, number 2 and 3 are lying together and moan loudly – and the head of the one is on the lap of the other, ha ha ha ha! – number 4 is still lying at the pillar and number 5 is still kneeling, holding his privates – pussy!

I realize quickly that the battle is over – no! That can't be! It started to make fun right now, the battle can't be over already!

"You damn bastard!", I hear a yell from the other half of the bar – the intact half. The fat and angry host is moving towards me with a racket – I rub my hands with anticipation, victim number 6!

"You destroyed my bar!", he yells at me. I cast a glance across the battlefield and can't stop myself to correct the person facing me: "Wrong, I have destroyed only half of your bar."

He becomes angrier obviously – YES! – and swings his racket, when another man appears out of the crowd of the frightened guests – NO! The man wears a long, deep-blue coat and a fitting hood on his head. At the end of his blue-red sleeve a leather glove is found on the hand, which stops the racket of the host.

I can't see the face of the spoilsport, but I am not happy.

"I believe we can find another solution for that here.", Hood starts talking with a smug voice – he sounds like a dwarf or boy!

"Don't intervene, or…!", the host wants to threaten him, when the stranger holds a purse full with money in front of him, allowing the Livres to tinkle instantly and the racket is lowered.

Without flinching the host grabs the purse and hides it in his vest. Still he casts a hateful glance towards me, before growling at the stranger: "But the guy leaves this place, now!"

When you believe, I toe the line, then…

"Of course, he will.", Hood answers and turns around to me. Under his hood his bearded, but still young face is seen, as well like his whole getup, reminding on a rich aristocrat – when he isn't connected to the government in some way, I'll eat a hat.

He moves towards me, while I cross my arms. "That I want to see, how you force me out of this place.", I tell him with fitting arrogant smile.

Before I make a slip, he has grabbed my beard, has pulled my head down – this guy is stronger than he looks – and has thrown me with a knee-kick against the door of the bar – which is found behind me, by accident. Before I can react, he kicks me out of the bar completely.

(Here you can switch the music off. ;-) )

I land on the drenched and with shit stinking streets of Paris, while Hood walks out of the bar comfortably, closing the door even. The moon shines at the sky, while I get on my feet, in battle posture and a grin on my face. "Ah, that's how it is. I thought the host would be my victim number 6 of today's evening, but apparently I was wrong. I hope you will take this place there for…not that I will leave it up to your choice."

"When you mean.", Hood explains and smiles arrogantly, "But when I should become your sixth victim, you will need to catch me first."

"What you mean with tha-!?", I want to reply, when he has turned around already and ran down the street in front of me.

"You damn…!", I yell still, when I start chasing him – I hate running!

Hood is quick – too quick! – and barely an object on the street is an obstacle for him. Even the few people, who are found on the streets at this hour of the day, he passes without that they notice something – I need to knock a pair of drunken workers over to chase behind him.

Instead of staying on the street he turns around often, into alleys, tunnels below buildings and of course other streets.

"Fichu…!", I curse breathing loud, while he creates a bigger and bigger distance, "…you damn weasel!" He turns into another alley and I behind him – only to stop abruptly, when a high wooden fence appears. I hit the door in the middle almost and my nose touches the wood already.

Quickly I grab the doorknob of the wall – locked! I pull at it – "Open you damn piece of shit! – but the door moves no bit – "How the hell he passed this spot?!"

I go few steps back and look around: nowhere something to help you jump across the wall and it is too high. So he needs to…

"And now you're dead.", I hear his smug voice, while a silver blade is put at my neck… … …

So next chapter online :-)

Little explanation: I can't speak French, so all French words you find are searched online ;-) Here the translation follows now:

Femmelette = sissy, pansy

Fichu! = Damn it!

I hope you liked this chapter, want to review it and stay tuned till next time :-)


	4. Plan B

Plan B

The glass in front of his eyes is driven back again, while Amelia appears in front of him. The light of the table's lamp is shining brightly again, but Adam recovers quicker this time, noticing that Amelia is plugging off the cables.

"Amelia, what is…?" he asks confused, when she answers him without turning around, "Plan B, in 30 minutes."

Adam's eyes twitch still quickly, when he realizes the meaning of the words and one moment later he starts to dismantle the whole Animus-device as well.

Cables are unplugged, generators packed into a case, laptops are closed with a snap, computers shut down and the Animus-seat – which is nothing else than a normal seat, which is connected in a special way to the computers – can be folded simply, which is why a handle becomes visible even.

After the first things are transportable, Adam and Amelia bring them out of the empty factory hall, where they were hiding. In front of the building a green minivan is found, inside whose cargo room the things are put.

"Start the engines already – I get the rest." Adam explains, when he has put his things down. One moment later he has turned around and runs back to the factory hall.

Amelia doesn't waste time: after the things are stored away firmly, she goes to the driver's cabin and starts the engine. She is looking around the whole time, observing the surroundings properly: the factory hall is found few kilometers away from the next settlement and only few graveled streets – even when remains of concrete and asphalt are seen at few spots – lead away from here, but there for in different directions.

It lasts only few minutes and everything is stored away. Adam swings on the co-driver seat and still before the door is closed, Amelia hits the road.

 _1 hour later…_

The green minivan has reached a country road in the meantime and drives westwards. There are various other vehicles on its lane, as well like on the other one, leading eastwards, but no one of the cars seems to care for real about the minivan.

Adam sighs relieved. "Apparently we were lucky this time." he murmurs more to himself than to Amelia.

"That I will say not before we have reached a safe hideout again, Adaś." Amelia responds, watching the street.

Adam turns his head around to her. "What happened exactly?" he asks curiously, "Was my time up? It hasn't felt this way."

"It wasn't.", Amelia replies simply, "We got busted only."

"Busted?!" is Adam's almost hysterical reaction, "You want to tell me that my algorithm failed?"

"Exactly that I am doing." Amelia answers.

Adam stares at her stunned. "You are joking." he replies and tries to smile.

"Not at all." is her reaction.

"You need to joke." Adam continues only angrier, "My algorithms can't fail! When they could do that, I would have never been able to get the data from the Abstergo Servers in the first place!"

"Apparently at some moment each algorithm fails." is Amelia's simple answer.

Adam's eyes become even bigger. "Take that back…" he stammers with anger in the voice, "…or everything between us is over."

Amelia casts a short glance towards him. Serenity is written all over her face. "When you want it so…" she replies with a knowing glance.

Adam continues staring at her. She stares back only, when she doesn't look at the street. The duel of starring lasts perhaps 1 minute, when…

"Okay, I bluffed." Adam replies and looks back forward, "But when my algorithm failed for real, I need to find the weakness."

"I know." Amelia replies, "Apparently we will not be able to finish Davide's story for a while."

Now Adam needs to massage his temples. "I don't know how you are, but sitting in our Animus-replica, makes hungry." he says sighing, "As well like the thought that I will need to check my algorithm once again."

Amelia looks right, where a sign with the logo of a certain fast food chain is seen, as well like the distance below it: 'in 10 km'. "At least we can solve this problem soon." she replies and casts another glance towards Adam, "But there for you tell me what you have experienced."

 _After a warm meal…_

Amelia slurps at her shake, while Adam examines several A4-slips, which are stapled. "No, that is not the error…" he murmurs, while Amelia puts her now empty shake beside the empty remains of their meal.

"And you have woken up right after this sentence?" she asks disbelievingly.

"Yes, as if it would be a bad movie, which ends his plot with a cliffhanger." Adam responds without looking up.

Amelia shakes her head. "And apparently it will stay a cliffhanger." she explains dissatisfied, "Or do you know a solution to your algorithm-problem?"

Adam still doesn't look up, but explains: "I could 'refine' this algorithm here – have some ideas already actually – so that we can continue using it."

"And I thought all your algorithms are perfect already." Amelia replies in a sarcastic way.

"They are." Adam answers and looks up for the first time, "But that doesn't mean, that there needs to be only one perfect.", and looks down again.

"Of course." is Amelia's only answer and she rolls her eyes.

"The bigger problem is the error – the weakness – the loophole – call it like it suits you." Adam continues and ruffles his hair, "I can't find one. Nobody should have been able to bypass this algorithm – with exception of the best hacker of the world of course."

"That would be you, what?" Amelia says quite bored.

"Exactly.", Adam confirms without hesitation, "The algorithm shouldn't have failed."

Amelia stretches her hand out. "Show me, maybe I'll find the error, which shouldn't exist."

Adam looks up immediately. His face shows some kind of smile: "Eh, I don't to want to sound arrogant now, but…"

"Swallow your next words and give me your algorithm, Adaś." Amelia stifles him instantly, with a lightly threatening undertone.

Adam swallows loud once. One Moment later the algorithm is in her hand.

 _In the night…_

The place changed again – a motel at the edge of the street. The green minivan is parking and the two hackers are sitting inside one of the rooms.

There their whole equipment is unpacked again and Adam is sitting at the computers – he is typing around quickly obviously. Amelia is lying on the bed and in her hands, which are stretched out, the algorithm is found, which she reads once again.

"I found two possible entrances." she says suddenly and sits up.

Adam interrupts his typing around immediately and looks at her shocked. "You…you…you have…" he stammers, when Amelia interrupts him already: "Yes, but only to satisfy your ego: they are hard to detect, even for experienced hackers."

Adam ruffles his hairs: "But they can be detected…moreover even 2! That can't be!"

"Calm down!" Amelia explains, "Under normal circumstances they shouldn't be detectable."

"About what are you talking?" Adam presses confused.

"About the fact that only I could detect them." Amelia explains and immediately a skeptical glance appears on Adam's face, which is why she continues, "I know your style. Your way to create such things. Only that's why I could discover the errors in the first place. Somebody, who doesn't know you, would need years probably."

On the one hand relief is seen on Adam's face, but on the other also realization. "That means we are at the beginning again." he answers sighing and needs to hold his forehead.

"Sadly yes." Amelia agrees and stands up, only to go few steps towards the computer, "So will we get inside tonight again?"

Air leaves Adam's nose, when he answers: "The algorithm is refined, so we could try it.", he looks to the computer, "But to minimize the chance of discovery, I can't be inside for longer than one hour."

"Of course." Amelia answers. While Adam now goes to the Animus-seat, Amelia sits down in front of the monitors.

Adam leans back. "At least the cliffhanger will be resolved." he explains smirking.

"Which isn't a real one." Amelia responds, preparing everything, "You know we have at least one dozen more data sets of Davide, all of them younger than this one here."

"I know." Adam says sighing only, "Still I am excited how it continues."

"Then let's start." Amelia answers and types around on the keyboard, which is why the glass around Adam's head comes driving out. It lasts only few moments and he is gone.

In the meantime a black command window appears on one of the monitors. Few words appear on it: "FOUND YA!"


	5. The Offer

The Offer

 _16\. Vendémiarie VIII, Paris (8. October 1799)_

…"Or not.", Hood completes his sentence and the blade disappears again, as if it was driven back.

Quickly I turn around, while the stranger has gone few steps back already. He has again this arrogant smile on his face, which is brightened by the lantern at the next wall.

"That was a mistake.", I explain him with an angry face, "You will not have another opportunity like that."

"Actually, I will, but we don't need to make this longer than we have done it already, Monsieur Nemours.", Hood replies – from where does he know my name? …is he…?

I calm down instantly. "That we met in this bar, was no coincidence, what?", I conclude and look into his eyes firmly. They are as dark as his behavior.

"You're right.", he replies without astonishment, "I looked for you, Monsieur Nemours."

"And why should a man, I have never seen in my life, look for me?", I respond and cross my arms – the fun is over, annoyingly.

"Because you are somebody special.", he answers with a crooked smile.

Let's ignore the hidden sarcasm.

"Thanks, have done much to earn that.", I explain, "But that doesn't answer my question. Who are you anyway?"

"Nobody, whose name would give you any benefit.", Hood answers dodging, but still confident.

"Okay, then I call you Nobody.", I reply and stop crossing my arms.

He starts to chuckle. "I like that.", he explains, "I like being a nobody."

"Problems with the confidence, what?", is my comment, while I do a step closer.

"No.", he says determined, "A nobody sees everything and a somebody is seen by everyone. I always was a friend of action instead of reaction."

I need to smirk about that. At least in this point we are the same.

My face hardens one moment later. "Only that you know it, Nobody, I will not let you go, before you give me some answers. I am not a friend of being in the dark.", and another step.

"Then I give you the opportunity to shine some light on this darkness.", he answers, "But not here and now. When you want to know who I am and why I looked for you, then find me in the Café Théatre tomorrow."

Another step closer…it is time.

"Of course…", I reply and snatch forward already.

Gotcha! …what the…where is he?!

I look around and see a movement at the building's wall to my right. Quickly I turn around and see like a blue shadow climbs the wall up like a monkey.

"Fils de pute…", I murmur only, when he stops few meters above my head, simply hanging at one hand.

"We'll see us then in the Café Théatre, Monsieur Nemours.", and he climbs on already, till the rest of him has vanished in the night.

"I'll get you, petit tabernac.", I murmur, before I vanish in the night as well.

 _17\. Vendémaire VIII, Le Matin_

I yawn loudly.

The night yesterday was longer and still not as funny as I expected.

After Hood has vanished in the night, I couldn't find a reasonably good bar anymore – not that alcohol would taste after these events. With other words: I am dead sober and I hate each moment of this.

I turn my head back and forth and allow my neck to creak. Barely to believe that the cots in the camp are more comfortable than the beds of this hotel, where I sleep. My backbone is as stiff as a rifle and I could vomit. Additionally there is the bright light – rain why have you left me! – of the sun and the obviously too loud chats of the people around me.

"Shut up or I bash you!", I scream at one amorous pair almost, that has said to each other probably only these…let's call them 'lovely' words. Anyway, they run away.

I am wearing still my clothes from last night – not that I have many clothes to change that. I have only one vest, a pair of boots, two pair of pants – and the others are actually white, but so dirty from the mud that it could pass as brown (you understand why I prefer the dark pants now) – and three pair of shirts, but all of them as clean as this one here. And thanks to the reason of my yesterday's boozing I have neither a pistol, nor epee or dagger – I feel so nude!

The Café Théatre appears in front of me. The edges of the door and the window beside it are out of wood, although all other buildings here are out of stone. Above the door these theater-masks can be found, these ones from Old Greece.

I look around – I seem to be in the rich region of Paris. So many pups and ladies with clean hair, I never have seen – with exception of Italy. Apparently the Île Saint-Louis does credit to its reputation.

I enter the Café with my boots, dirty from the mud yesterday – and make the nice carpet below me as dirty. Somebody from the service – at least I assume that this girl, who stares at me with an annoyed glance, belongs to the employees of the Café – allows me to feel that I am unwanted here.

Screw them.

I look around: in front of me a deeper found place with many tables and chairs, at which people are jabbering and – what wonder – drink coffee is seen. Beyond of them is a small dais with background scenery, on which two Clowns act like actors – it is a Café and a theater, what a splendid thing!

Enough with the sarcasm. To my right only bar tables are found and nobody who is standing there, looks like Hood. That's why I turn left, where several sitting niches are found. I start moving and look inside the first, where only another pup with a lady is sitting. I snort only and go to number two.

Jackpot.

Without hesitation I shove myself in between table and seat opposite of Hood, who is studying few pieces of paper right now. "Something interesting?", I ask him, when I sit down finally.

He doesn't look up. "Only a little bit of preparation.", he answers and turns the paper in his hand around, so that I can read it:

" _Hereby I cashier Sergent Davide Nemours from the Armée. His repeated insubordination and instigation of the rest of his unit for similar behavior doesn't allow a different judgment with exception of the Guillotine._

 _Signed at the 14. Vendémaire VIII_

 _Chef de Bataillon Jules Chirac"_

My teeth gnash audibly.

"And that is only one of the files, which I have from the Archives.", Hood explains and pulls the paper back, "One needs to admire the French bureaucracy – as fast they fill their Archives."

I lean back. "So you work for the government.", I explain and look into his eyes – he hasn't pulled down his hood even here.

He smiles. "No, I am nobody, already forgotten?", he reminds me, "A nobody doesn't work for today's government."

"There I have a different opinion.", I object simply and fold my hands on the table, "But you promised me answers – and believe me, here your monkey-like agility will not help you."

He chuckles. "Possible.", he answers and pulls the hood down now – black full hair appears. "My name is Arno Dorian, I am pleased to meet you, Davide Nemours."

"Your name tells me nothing.", I explain rather as a statement.

"And that should stay this way better.", Arno answers smirking, "But my identity isn't the important thing here – more important is rather the reason I am examining these files."

"And I thought I need to hammer it in your head.", I answer joking, but with a lightly threatening undertone. Arno smiles crooked and I swing my arms on the backrest.

"Will not be necessary, don't worry.", he answers, "I looked for you in the name of a certain person."

"So you work for somebody.", I conclude.

"With somebody, not for.", he corrects me, "We are partners…more or less."

"Aha.", I say only, "And who is it?", I put up a grin, "I bet it is this little Corsican!", I add laughing.

"Exactly.", is his answer.

…what?

"What?", I can say only.

"It is the 'little' Corsican.", he explains, whereby he implies quotes with forefingers and middle fingers.

I…I need to admit to my shame, that I am speechless.

He smiles satisfied. "Bonaparte wants to assemble an elite unit and he trusts me so far, that I'll find the right people for it.", Arno explains simply, while I listen, "I found quite much about you, Monsieur Nemours. Born at the 10th June 1768 in Marseille. Long Years Dock Worker like the father, till the revolution breaks out. You are a fighter for the Liberty from the beginning…", I hated the aristocrats, like everyone else, "…and joined the Armée when France needed to be protected 1792. From there your file is really splendid: joined the Battle of Valmy, Wattignies, Fleurus, then participant of the Italy Campaigns of Bonaparte where you performed amazing accomplishments – Bonaparte himself called you the 'most difficult to kill French Man'.", only one sentence: kill or get killed, "There you were promoted to the rank of Sergent as well."

"And right after this I was removed to the post under the command of Jules 'Sac a Foutre' Chirac, where my wonderful career found a sudden end.", I finish the listing, "I know my life and don't need to be reminded of things, which are over. Explain me rather, what this elite unit is about and why Bonaparte wants me to be part of it so urgently."

Arno needs to smirk again. He puts the papers aside and folds the hands together on the table. "Bonaparte told me, that he is looking for skillful men – the ones, who are independent and still belong to the best, there are. The why I can't explain you, because it is too important. Fact is, that it will change France.", I nod only, "And why you? Because you belong to the best. I know why you were cashiered. Jules Chirac would have sent his whole battalion to death, when you wouldn't have rebelled."

"This Cum Bag has his position only, because he knows the right people.", I explain bitterly, "He had no idea of tactics and about war even less. He wanted to go down in history as popular hero only, didn't care about his men at all. When I wouldn't have stopped him, I would be the only survivor there – beside him of course."

"I heard that Chirac ordered after this insubordination that you get shot on the premises still – only each man refused to do so.", Arno reminds me on things, I am proud of somehow.

"He tried it himself then.", I add, "But when he realized that the others will hang him like a mad dog for this, he ran away. The battalion was resolved after that, but Chirac still got his wish, thanks to his friends high at the top."

"And without the Intervention of Bonaparte it would have become more than only a dishonorable Military discharge."

I open my eyes widely.

"The order to your execution was written already, only a signature was missing.", he explains me, "Bonaparte heard about that and has arranged everything so that the signature would never appear."

I lean back and need to breath in and out loudly now. "Then I owe him something.", is the only thing I can say.

Arno says nothing about this. It stays silent for a while, where I am considering. "Where do I need to sign to join this elite unit?"

 _Today…_

 _In the meantime a black command window appears on one of the monitors. Few words appear on it: "FOUND YA!"_

 _Amelia looks at the Command window instantly and curses mentally. Quickly she wants to interrupt the program, when the monitors start to flicker suddenly, as if a virus is uploaded._

" _Damn it!", Amelia curses now loudly and tries to save what can be saved – without success._

 _Instead she notices that the Command window isn't affected by the virus – the next words appear on it: "I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY."_

" _I AM THE ENEMY OF YOUR ENEMY!"_

" _What the…", Amelia murmurs shocked and disbelieving, when the next words appear already:_

" _AND I AM RIGHT BEHIND YOU."_

* * *

Few translations:

Fils de Pute: Son of a Bitch

Petit tabernac: Little fucker

Sergent: Sergeant

Chef de Bataillon: Major

Sac a Foutre: Cum Bag

So I hope you liked this chapter, want to review it and stay tuned till next time ^^


	6. The Indian

" _Where the hell am I?" Adam asks inside the empty, white room._

 _No matter where he looks, only white everywhere. Even downwards only an endless white emptiness expands – and he seems to stand on something, in the middle of the air._

" _Am I dead?" Adam murmurs lightly getting panic._

 _Then he notices that he wears boots – old-fashioned boots. He looks up to his arms and realizes that these are not his arms. A short examination of the remaining body confirms it: he is still Davide Nemours._

" _I am still in the Animus." Adam concludes and looks around once more, "In some kind of Waiting Room…or Loading Screen…but why?"_

 _He looks up. "Hey Amelia, when you haven't uploaded a simulation, can't you get me out simply!" he yells loudly, "It is boring as shit here!"_

 _Suddenly he senses something, some kind of pulling. "What the…!" he can still murmur when the picture in front of him blurs and he wakes up somewhere else._

The Indian

 _19\. Vendémiarie VIII, Saint-Denis/Franciade (11. October 1799)_

I blow the smoke out of my mouth.

I breathe the warmth in with relish again, before I put the pipe back into my mouth. I look right, where a clock is hanging beside the closed door: it is past 2 a.m. It's time to make him talk.

I stand up from my chair, within I sat with one leg on the other, and walk relaxed across the brittle planks of the basement ground, only brightened by the gas lantern at the wall. I pull my hood closer and blow more smoke out of my mouth.

I can hear the whining of my prisoner. For hours I am in the room and haven't done anything – hopefully he has time to imagine what I am planning to do with him.

I check his cuffs around the arms – still tight. One glance upwards tells me that the cuffs, which bind him at the ceiling and let him hang headfirst, are equally tight.

I look down: the two stinking pieces of cloth around mouth and eyes are still at their places, which is why one can hear only muffled murmuring besides the whining.

Time to remind him about his situation: I blow more smoke out of my mouth and with one relaxed swing of my arm I burn the bare skin of his upper body with my pipe. He screams in pain, as much as possible with the gag.

I bow down, so that my mouth is not far away from his ears. I take another drag from my pipe and then whisper towards him quietly: "I know who you are, Templar. So denial will not help you. As well like screaming. The only thing you will cause with that, is making me angry and believe me, you don't want to see me angry."

I wait for a moment, so that my words can take full effect. Then I add whispering still: "When you have understood me, nod."

I don't need to wait long – he nods very eagerly.

"Good, then I will remove the gag." I explain and have done it already – his mouth is free again and seems to catch for fresh air. He starts to pant and a croaking "Water…" is heard.

I keep a straight face. Instead I go to the other side of the basement, where a barrel full with water is found, a ladle dived inside. While I turn around to my prisoner again, I lift one leg and put it at the barrel in a bended way. I pull my pipe out of the mouth and lift the ladle up, full with water.

I cast a short glance towards him and then drink out of the ladle – it is fresh and cold. I am quite loud while drinking, before I add specially: "You're right – the water is delicious."

I fill the ladle with water again and start moving to the hanging man, whose pain is seen at the lower half of his face – or upper, as the case may be.

I squat in front of his face, ladle between our two faces. "Let's make a deal…" I suggest, "You give me what I want and I give you what you want.", and emphasize it by drinking some of the water loudly again – but this time I leave enough.

He grits with his teeth, before croaking again: "What you want?"

I smile and rise. While I start speaking now, I circle around him: "You and your friends have arrived at the harbor Lorient one month ago, with cargo from the Colonies. But before I was at site, the cargo was gone.", I stop and the next words are stressed specially, "After I made your friends at site talk, I found out that you wanted to bring it to Paris.", I move on, "So I followed you…and in Saint-Denis I reached you.", I bend down to his face again, "I hope I don't need to remind you about the events of this night…"

He swallows loud, remembering it well. I rise, but continue looking down at him. "I found you, but not the cargo. Where – is – it?"

He looks up to me, despite the taped eyes. "I don't know." he explains shaking his head.

"Wrong answer." I counter and press the hot pipe against his upper body again – this time his scream isn't muffled.

I bend down again. "You get another chance and then you get this water." I whisper to him, while the pain is still seen on his mouth, "Where – are – the – goods? What have you transported across the Atlantic?! Talk!"

He starts to breathe loudly, signs of fear. But he doesn't talk.

…how bad…

I pour the water on the ground and stand up. "You have made my and your night much longer right now…" are my last words to him.

I think I start with the fingers…

…

He started talking around 6 a.m.

 _Un peu plus tard…_

I see the door to the tomb. It is quite high, but there for moldy and old, like everything here on this graveyard.

The sun rises already, but I can see everything clearly already: no guards outside here. What would be quite striking anyway on a graveyard.

I come closer to the door. A short examination leads to the conclusion that it is unlocked.

…perhaps guards will wait inside…I should be ready. I lift my left hand and pull my glove down. At the spot where once my left ring and little finger were, now a leathery sheathing is found at whose upper end a device with wooden fingers is seen.

I pull both fingers away and replace them with two of my blades – slender enough so that they wouldn't endanger my fingers, but as sharp as hidden blades. I loosen my hand up lightly, pull my green hood closer across my head and lift my other hand to open the door.

It is jammed. I try to use more strength and it starts to move, scratching almost too loud across the stone ground. When it is open enough, I slip through.

Darkness greets me at the bottom of the stairs. Only few steps away from me a torch is seen, but it lies at the ground instead at its bracket at the wall. Also I can smell blood.

It takes a moment, but my eyes adapt to the darkness and I can see two bodies on the ground. I crouch down and sneak closer to them, trying to stay in the shadows. Touching their necks confirms that they are dead.

Who killed them?

I look around again, but with exception of the skulls in the walls, I find nothing special. Time to move on.

The darkness in this tomb is interrupted over and over again by torches – signs that here where the dead rest quite many living ones are found. And I thought the authorities have sealed off the tombs after the disturbance five years ago. They seem to have overlooked this one here.

I find even more fresh corpses. Judging by the clothes and face care nobody of a higher rank – thugs probably. I am at least at the right place, even when I would like to know who is doing my work.

The end of the tunnel becomes brighter and I start to hear voices. I move more careful into the light of a torch and realize that I am no longer in a tunnel but inside a huge chamber tomb. In front of me is an abyss with a wooden beam, which is why I could look down better. But before I move at this position, I look around on my floor again: another corpse only few steps away, but otherwise nobody alive.

I step on the beam in a crouch and look down: beside the fact, that a small group is gathered there, I can see also various boxes – the cargo. Most of the group members are thugs, obviously, but two persons poke out: a bigger man, who seems to be the leader of the thugs obviously, and a man with more expensive looking clothes – Lucas Garnier, a Templar.

He isn't very tall but also not small and wears his full blond hairs together within a ponytail. Once he had looked handsome probably, but his age, his love for wine and married women, with very vengeful husbands, have cared there for that his face looks older than his 47 years. And did I mention that he is one of the Commanders of the Knights Templars in France? After the death of the last Grand Master they belong to the most important men of the Order, right after the Seneschal and Marshal, who still hold the Order together, as long till a new Grand Master is elected.

And exactly that's why he belongs to my targets.

He is speaking with the leader of the brutes, but I can't understand a word from this height – not that it would have any real meaning, because I have discovered something else. Behind the boxes, within a dead angle of the group, probably the one is found who has come before me: he wears white-blue clothes with a white hood and looks obviously like an assassin. Only why don't I know him?

I check again the group and count my enemies: in total 11, without leader and Garnier. I check the exits: beside the one I have taken, there two more, so an ambush will not work here. Only the open battle remains.

Normally 13 enemies would be a challenge, but when my Brother down there helps me, it could work. But first I need to wait till the conversation is over…

"Hey, who are you?!", I can hear an alarming scream and see that one of the thugs has discovered my Brother…damn it, me and he were too focused on one thing like it seems. He springs out of his hideout instantly and finishes the discoverer off with one aimed hit with his hidden blade. But one moment later the others draw their weapons already and run at him…I imagined it differently indeed, but it will work this way as well.

In my eye's corner I see Garnier, how he is running at one of the exits – for sure not! One jump from the top and a strong punch at his neck is enough to stun him for now.

Quickly I spring around and see already my first enemy – who is breathing with one slashed open throat one moment later. Quickly I sprint at the next opponent as long nobody has noticed me and ram my left hand's blades into his stomach and allow him to bleed out.

The first enemy notices me, but he dies, before he can direct his weapon towards me. The blade of an epee flies towards me, but with an elegant movement I dodge it and pierce my left hand into the face of my opponent.

….ufff!

I crash against the wall to my right side and slide down. I press my right hand at my side, where the strike of the club has hit me. The leader of the thugs is coming towards me with a confident looking face and I press myself on my feet…ow! I believe one of my rips cracked.

He becomes even more confident and notices his chaser too late. He turns his head around partially, but then the blade of my Brother has moved into his neck already and has come out again. The leader collapses and stays lying on his stomach, where a pool of blood appears.

I look up to my saver – he is a little bit taller than me – and discover his brown-red skin color and his stoic face. He comes closer, but instead of asking he swings his head into the direction of my wound only.

"Nothing, I will not survive." I explain simply and he nods.

He looks around, as if he would look for something and now it's me who swings his head towards Garnier. "He is there." I add still and he discovers him. He goes to him and starts to fetter him, while I look around myself now: the corpses of all thugs are lying around everywhere. This guy…he could be better than me.

I inspect the boxes more properly – in some cotton, smoked meat or goods from the Colonies are found. Nothing special at least…till I find the biggest box below a mountain of other boxes – it is even bigger than me. Is that what the Templars needed to bring to Europe so urgently? …it stinks.

"My name is Connor." I can hear the voice of my brother speaking with broken French, while he comes at me from the back, "I am the Mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood."

I turn my head around partially towards him. "That explains why I don't know you." I answer him in English, "Cole Bridges, Member of the European Brotherhood, French Branch right now."

"Nice to meet you.", he replies nodding, switching to English as well and goes now closer to the box, freeing it from the others.

"An idea what they transported there?" I ask curiously, "Looks huge."

"But it isn't.", Connor answers without a break, "It should only give the impression."

After he has removed more boxes, I notice that there are locks with holding staffs as well like small holes in this box – air holes.

"It lives?" I ask surprised.

" **He** lives." he corrects me and has freed the box enough now, trying to open it by working at the padlocks with picklocks.

"Step back." I explain him and draw my pistol – with four barrels. I aim at the three locks and shoot at them one by one, so that the hatch of the box – after all standing vertical – starts to move now. Connor helps and it falls down.

Inside the box straw, as well like remains of something eatable and flies, which are flying suspiciously around one spot in the corner, are found. And in another corner a man is laying, more dead than alive and his long black hair is expanded below his head.

Connor runs to him immediately and supports his head. "Jake! Jake! Do you hear me?!" he screams frightened.

I come closer and see that the man opens his eyes. "Hello Connor…" he croaks, "You are quite late."

"It took a while to find you." Connor explains and the relief is heard in his voice.

Jake tries to get on his arms and he is successful – he is even taller than Connor.

"Who is that?" I ask Connor, when he stands up satisfied. Connor doesn't turn his head away, when he answers: "Jakob Schwarz…" and then he turns his head still, "…a Templar."

* * *

Few translations:

 _Un peu plus tard…_ : a little bit later

So I hope you liked this chapter, want to review it and stay tuned till next time ^^


	7. The Guide

" _Apparently I was Cole again.", Adam murmurs after he is back in the Loading Screen, "But we didn't have enough time for this."_

 _He looks up. "Hey, Amelia, I hope you get me out now. I am becoming hungry slowly."_

 _No answer follows. "Typically, woman…", he murmurs, "…tortures you with silence rather than explaining some things."_

 _Suddenly Adam feels a familiar sensation. "It begins again…", he can still say, when he dives into the simulation already._

The Guide

 _21\. Vendémiarie VIII, Saint-Denis/Franciade (13. October 1799)_

The last night was horrible. The cracked rip turned out to be a bruise – am I really already older than 40? – but it still hurt like hell. And then I needed to sleep with that even…L'horreur, like the French say.

After I have woken up, I dressed in my clothes quickly and have left this smelly room of a tavern. Also the eating chamber I have crossed quickly, not that there would be something well-tasting here anyway.

My goal is clear: the Brother, to whom I have given Garnier. I want to interrogate Garnier about other Commanders, as well like the Seneschal and Marshal.

The streets of Saint-Denis are filled once again, even when they are never as full as the ones of Paris…horrible city. As dirty as London and still all Parisians think it is the most beautiful and glorious of all cities of the world.

In the Times of the _La Terreur_ all of us have seen how beautiful and glorious this city has torn itself into pieces.

Not that the current government is better. Merchants, Aristocrats and Clergy all of them. People, who rather like to get rich than to care for governing. When France wouldn't be surrounded by enemies in the last years, the people on the street would hear only about tax hikes from this 'Directoire' – as well like during the Times of the King, who was beheaded by the Parisians.

No wonder, that the people scream for a government change…I ask myself what role of this Bonaparte has to play still. He is the most interesting figure in the game for power till now.

The building, what is the hidden hideout of the Brotherhood, looks like a Bar. It smells like its visitors, who come soberly inside and leave drunk. It sounds like a bar, because even at this hour screams of joy can be heard from inside. And it is managed like a bar, because my Brother is Francois Fontaine, the host at the counter.

I enter the establishment and realize that the backmost tables are filled with unemployed again – Les Chômeurs, like the French call them.

"I know these faces from somewhere.", I tell Francois with a snidely voice, while I come closer. Because he doesn't seem to have something to do, his brown arms are stretched out on the counter and he supports his bulky body on them. A familiar appearance.

"They simply can't find work…and don't want to be caught by the officers.", Francois explains me again.

I put my elbow on the counter. "From where do they have the money for this place then?", I explain also again.

Francois smirks like always below his moustache. "Why are you here, Cole?"

"That should be obvious, or not?", I respond and look into his eyes firmly.

His face becomes serious and…sad? "I will not allow you close to Garnier."

"Don't worry.", I explain sighing, "I will try to be lenient."

"As lenient as the last one?", Francois asks angrily, "Damn it, Cole, he is dead."

I shrug. "One dead Templar more.", I reply, "Not that a different fate was awaiting him. At least his death has given us an advantage."

Francois shakes his head. "As assassin you should be…better than them and not go down to their level, Cole."

Slowly I am becoming angry. "I have no mercy with people, who doesn't show mercy towards us.", I explain coldly, "But why are we discussing this again? You know how it will end.", I point out at our last discussion on this topic, which ended with a loud row.

He lowers his head. "Because it's not me this time, you need to explain yourself, Cole.", he explains sadly.

My eyes open widely.

"The Council has ordered that Lucas Garnier should be brought to Paris, where he will be interrogated.", Francois continues explaining, "I have arranged everything necessary already."

I continue to stay silent, waiting for the next words. "And you, Cole, each contact with Garnier or other Templar prisoners of the Brotherhood is forbidden to you from now on, for the time being."

"You can't do that.", I hiss.

"Also you are summoned to the Council – you should appear in front of it within the next 7 days at the latest.", Francois ignores my words, "When you don't do it, we will force you."

…now I am angry, but I try to control my wrath.

"That far it has come already…", I explain sadly, "Assassins shred themselves into pieces cause of Templars."

"It's your own fault, Cole.", Francois replies angrily, "The Times of the Terror are over and our rules mean something again."

I snort scornfully.

Francois relaxes visibly: "Also you are ordered to bring the Mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood and…his guest along to Paris, so that the Council can meet him."

As if he would kick a beaten person still.

"I want to spend as little time as possible close to this…Templar Friend.", I am able to say.

"Maybe this 'Templar Friend' can teach you many things.", Francois replies, "He isn't the Mentor of his Brotherhood for nothing.", he makes a break, "Try to find out, why the other Templars have dragged this one here to France.", he looks down at a small sheet of paper, which he gives me, "You find the two at a Café around the corner of your last roosting place."

 _Un peu plus tard…_

Francois was right of course. The two are sitting directly in front of me on two Café chairs, chatting with each other busily. Connor, still wearing his Assassins' Clothes only with pulled down hood, is sitting at the right side. His pitch-black hairs are streaked with the first grey already.

The Templar on the other hand still looks quite rundown, even when his black clothes look fresh and new. You can see above all that he looks quite scaled-down and at one or other place healed wounds are seen, some older, some younger.

His Brothers seem to have treated him quite bad. What has he done to deserve that?

I go to the two now and of course it's Connor, who notices me first. He smiles this time, differently from the last time, where his face could be mistaken for a stone.

"Monsieur Bridges, it seems you are better again.", he explains in broken French.

"You can also talk English with me, Mentor.", I explain back in this language, "You look more than American enough for that. America is still a friend of France."

He smirks. "But you don't have the same advantages.", he explains still speaking French.

"I am in France for almost 20 years already and know, when I can speak and when not.", I explain again in English and shove a third chair back. I sit down, but not without casting a snidely glance at the Templar.

He has seen it obviously, but instead of reacting on that, he speaks to Connor. "It would be better when you listen to him Connor – your French is horrible.", he explains in English.

Toady.

"Alright.", Connor answers in English now and looks at me curiously then, "Could you speak with the Brotherhood?"

I look first at him, then at the Templar. Does he want to talk about issues of the Brotherhood in front of a Templar in all seriousness?!

I don't know if Connor has understood my glances, but the Templar has. "I believe I should lie down still, Connor.", he explains standing up, "You will not believe me, but even the worst bed is better than a little bit of straw in a wooden box."

Connor nods only and the Templar leaves us two. I relax considerably.

"So?", Connor asks, showing his stoic mien again.

"The Council wants to see you, Mentor.", I explain him, "I should bring you…and him to them…even when not at the same time."

"Here in Europe you seem to have quite a tensed up relation to the Templars, what?", he asks with a curious sounding voice.

I remember the words of Francois and become angry again. "I don't know what kind of relation the Council has with the Order, but I don't trust Templars.", I explain coldly and add equally curious, "You seem to understand each other pretty well in the United States like it seems."

"With some, yes.", Connor explains, "For now…similar goals connect us."

"So it is only a temporary ceasefire?", I ask hopefully.

"Yes, even when I hope that it could become more.", Connor replies and smashes my hopes, "Jake…he is a man, you can trust."

That disgusts me, but I don't show it on my face.

"To each his own…", I answer only and he starts looking around.

An awkward silence begins, which is why I try to end it immediately: "The Council would like to know, why…Jake was dragged here by his brothers."

Connor leans back. "We have discovered a presence of Templars in the States, which doesn't belong to Jake's people.", he explains soberly, "They had contacts to the Paybacks…another group of Templars, which we could smash almost completely with the help of Jake's Order. But they are still there as Gangs…and are looking for something apparently. Jake has examined that…and ended up here."

"Apparently he had poked his nose into something, he shouldn't have.", I reply coldly.

Now Connor bends forward again. "Jake assumes, that they were looking for a temple…or relicts of the First Civilization."

He has said it like I should be on my guard of that. "And what is the First Civilizations?", I press that's why.

Connor opens his eyes widely for a moment, but then lowers his eyes. "Apparently a thing, which needs a longer explanation.", he answers lightly disappointed.

I lean back. "I have time."

"No, I'll explain it better on the way to Paris.", Connor objects and looks around again, "Now I would rather like to know who _the Guide_ is."

Now I lean back forward. "The Guide?", I ask confused.

"Yes.", Connor answers, "Jake told me that the Templars, who caught him, were speaking always about the fact that the Guide is interested in his knowledge.", he rubs across his chin, "I have thought, that he is the Grand Master from here perhaps."

"There is no Grand Master in France for more than five years already.", I explain convinced, "We cared there for."

He nods slowly. "And outside of France?"

I stretch my arms out. "I don't know, if you have noticed it, but the rest of Europe is at war with France.", is my answer, "The possibilities to contact other branches is quite hard even for us Assassins and we are obviously in the much better position than the Templars here."

"Maybe you are underestimating them.", he answers simply, "They came even to the United States."

My face becomes hard. "I hunt the Templars since I came to France in the 1780s, but I am only one man.", I answer, "When the Council and the former Mentor wouldn't have set such a…lax course with the dealings with them, that wouldn't happen for sure."

He notices my aggressiveness obviously.

"I see…", he explains only, "Maybe meeting the Council is indeed the best thing to do…"

 _Everything becomes white again and Adam, in shape of Cole, appears in this white room._

" _Okay, that was interesting.", he murmurs rubbing over his chin, "What the hell is the First Civilization?"_

" _The right question.", Adam can hear a voice from the top suddenly, a male and rough one, "A question, which demands an answer."_

" _What the…?", he can still murmur, when his view becomes blurred and he wakes up._

* * *

Few Translations:

L'horreur = The Horror, of course ;-)

La Terreur = Literally The Terror, but meaning here the Times of the Terror Reign in Paris between 1793 and 1794 :-)

Directoire = The French Directorate between 1795 and 1799 ^^

So I hope you liked this chapter, want to review it and stay tuned till next time ^^


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